


Curiosity Killed The Cat

by alliewrites



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, Cliche, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Irony, M/M, POV Third Person, Slow Burn, colourblind, george doesn't like cats in this one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28586583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alliewrites/pseuds/alliewrites
Summary: It was common knowledge: humans were born seeing only black, white and shades of grey and when a person meets their soulmate their world bursts into bright and vibrant colours. It seemed pretty simple, but it was much, much more complicated.Everything George had learnt about soulmates had been against his will, and mostly from Karl.George had always been a glass-half-empty type of person, and unlike his friend, finding his soulmate definitely wasn't at the top of his to-do list. Currently, his biggest priority was getting a stupid tabby cat to stay off of his balcony, and due to the fact that the cat happened to be the most stuck up and stubborn creature on the entire planet, it wasn't an easy job.In hindsight, it may have been a bit foolish to think he could solve the problem by sending a note to the owner attached to the cat's collar. On the other hand, it wasn't nearly as ridiculous as accidentally forming a relationship with the owner though sending notes back and forth via cat.But George doesn't realize just how crazy his life is getting until he realizes he can see the green colour of the cat's collar, and, suddenly the stupid little cat is the least of his problems.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & GeorgeNotFound, Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Karl Jacobs, Karl Jacobs/Sapnap
Comments: 32
Kudos: 233





	1. Heaven, Help Me (For I Might Kill This Cat)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is the first multi-chapter book I've written in a while. It's based around the concept that humans are unable to see colours until they meet their soulmate. This may seem familiar, because it was quite popular back in 2014, but I haven't seen many soulmate AUs in this fandom so I thought I'd give it a shot. This will be about 10-15 chapters long, and updates may take a while :)
> 
> This first chapter is a bit long, I apologize, I needed to fit a lot into the intro! 
> 
> Have a great day! (also, it's self-betad so if you see a mistake, no you didn't)

OCTOBER 16TH

"Alex for the love of God and all things holy, help me! The little shit is back" George whispered harshly onto his cellphone, holding a broom in his left hand. He leant against his bedroom wall, just out of sight of the sliding glass door that leads to his balcony.

"What? The spider?" Alex asked, a hint of laughter in his voice, "I don't want to say I told you so, but I specifically remember warning you about how that apartment is infested-"

"Not the spiders, you dumbass" George shot, still whispering to avoid waking his puppy, which was sleeping on his bed next to the door. He slowly peered over his shoulder and leaned so he could see outside and more specifically, see the dreaded beast that was perched on his balcony railings: a multi-shaded tabby cat with a bright collar. "It's that god damn cat! It's back!"

George's dog, who was previously oblivious, looked up at the mention of the dreaded "C" word, and then - to George's dismay - he shot up straight away at the sight of the cat, barking as loud as it possibly could as it hurled towards the glass.

In the process, it knocked over the neat stack of notes George had just written and organized, and several sheets of lined paper floated around the room and covered the floor. George sighed and leaned his head back, trying not to scream in frustration.

He knew beyond a doubt that the little old cranky lady in the apartment across the hall would be knocking on his door in a minute, yelling at him for his dog - that would be the icing on the cake.

This stupid little cat was going to be the death of him.

The "pest", as George often called it, had started to lay on his balcony in the afternoon three weeks prior, which was about the same time the apartment building changed its sign to "no vacancy", and just before classes went back into session. Much to George's disliking, it had become a routine. He would come home from his afternoon university classes, or grocery shopping, or the library, and he would open the curtains in his bedroom to let the light in, and without missing a single day, the cat would be in the same spot. It would roll around as if it owned the place, taunting George's dog (who he couldn't let outside, because, in a fight of cat vs. dog, there was no way his dog was winning). By far the worst part of it all was that it wouldn't leave until the last inch of the sun had disappeared, meaning it was there for hours.

Now, he had tried to make it impossible for the cat to get to the balcony, and god, had he tried everything. 

At first, he started to move some of his plant pots onto the railing tops so the cat couldn't jump onto them, which, in hindsight was a stupid idea. Several plants were lost in that war. So, when that plan ultimately failed he searched up "things that cat's hate" and instinctively bought a bunch of citrus essential oils at Walmart and made a weird mixture in a jar. 

That worked, for about an hour. Then, the little bastard went over and knocked the jar off the edge of the railing with its stupid paw, and it made sure George was watching when it did.

As a last resort, George bought a mini-orange tree, which earned him a few looks while he hauled it up from the first floor. It seemed like a good idea at the time because the cat didn't like citrus and there was no way the little bastard could push an entire tree off the balcony (and frankly, if it did, George would just surrender). He didn't even know he could get an orange tree as a plant, but it was Florida after all, and people sell everything on Facebook Marketplace. 

Unfortunately, George was by far the most unlucky person on the planet. The tree was the most unsuccessful of his plans. The cat just ignored it and sometimes played with the oranges that fell on the ground.

But at least he had a cool-looking orange tree now.

Even though the dog was barking up a storm and kept pawing roughly at the door, the cat calmly hopped off of the railing and onto the balcony floor. It rolled around on the warm wood before finding a comfortable place to enjoy the afternoon sun. George scoffed and turned away, getting up from the ground and turning his phone onto speaker mode.

"I don't know what to do with this damn cat" George groaned, flopping backwards on his bed. He spared no attention to the papers that were still scattered on his floor - they were the least of his problems. The dog eventually gave up barking and jumped back onto the bed to curl up next to him. George glanced at the door, watching the cat lick its paws unbothered, "It pooped in my orange tree yesterday, and I think that's cat speak for declaring war"

"You could always put a note in his collar for the owner," Alex suggested, "Like a small message, telling them to keep their cat away."

"That would mean I'd have to get close to that little bastard" George pointed out, "I could kill it, I think that would send a-"

"-do not kill the cat. I'm not letting you go to jail for cat murder."

George let out a heavy sigh and rolled his eyes even though he knew Alex couldn't see him. He ran a hand through his hair debating on what he could do with the pest. He could just buy another orange tree, maybe then the smell would be strong enough. Or, maybe he could cover the balcony in little spikes so the cat couldn't get on it - but that may be a bit extreme. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed with a huff, "Fine. I'll try it your way, and I'll put a stupid little note in its collar. But when I get rabies and die you better fucking believe I'm coming back to haunt you."

"It's not going to give you rabies, man," Alex said, dissolving into a fit of laughter. George pressed 'end call' on his phone.

He knew that, in reality, he wasn't going to buy another orange tree, or spikes for that matter. In fact, it would be much easier to go to the surrounding apartments and talk to his neighbours in person.

But that required social interaction, and not to mention it would be completely and utterly strange to go around randomly accusing people of being bad pet owners. So, as hesitant as George was, Alex's idea seemed to be the best one he had.

He leant down and grabbed a piece of paper that only had a few sentences of notes on it, wandering over to his desk and flopping down in his chair. In the middle of the page, he wrote a simple note in bold black sharpie which he was sure would get the point across:

**"Get your fucking cat off of my bloody balcony."**

Before he actually approached the cat, he grabbed his phone to call Alex again, this time on FaceTime so he had a witness.

"Motherfucker! Why did you hang up on me!" was the first thing Alex shouted.

"I'm going to put the note on this stupid cat's collar - I need you here so you can call 911 when it rips my face off," George said, propping up his phone against his monitor. He took the paper and folded it into a neat and small rectangle. On the outside, he wrote the words "open me" for the owner.

"I should probably put one some long sleeves," He said, mostly thinking out loud to himself. So he got up and dug through his closet until he found an old hoodie he hadn't worn since his first year in the US and he put it on.

And another older sweater over top of it, just to be safe.

Then, to be extra safe, he also grabbed a pair of oven mitts from his kitchen to protect his hands.

"You're so unbelievably dumb." Alex scoffed.

George disregarded that comment and put the mitts on.

As he had expected, once he had finished preparing, the cat was still on the balcony. He slowly made his way over to the door, finding a place to put his phone so Alex could watch what he was doing. He grabbed the broom again to protect himself, aware of how stupid he looked. His dog looked up and tilted his head, but did not move to get up and charge at the door again. The dog had almost gotten used to the cat, and while sometimes it would still bark, he mainly ignored it completely. George wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

From inside he could hear Alex still talking, and specifically shouting at his roommate: "Karl! Wanna come watch George do something stupid?"

For the record, George realized how stupid he was being as he closed the screen door on his balcony and slowly approached the cat. He didn't need Alex to confirm it. To be fair, the cat didn't seem like it was harmful - it probably only weighed like five pounds at most. Sure, there was a voice in the back of his head convincing him that the little devil was going to rip his face off the moment he got too close, but realistically he could just chuck it off the balcony if it got too rowdy.

He wasn't going to do that, because that would be morally wrong, but that was beside the point.

He was painfully aware of the fact that his friends were making fun of him as he made tiny steps towards the cat in order to avoid startling it. He also noticed that some other students who were sat on their balconies across the street were watching him and even if he couldn't hear them he was certain they were pointing and laughing. He also realized that holding a broom was a little overkill, so he gently set it down leaning against the wall.

When he was a foot away from the cat he moved too quickly, and the beast jumped up from its position. George took a step back, instinctively reaching back for the broom. 

But, then the cat just simply rolled back onto its side and started to purr, asking for pets.

He cautiously knelt down about a foot away from it and reached out slowly. He started to pet it's head and then, as quickly as he could, he stuck the note he had written into its collar securely. Conveniently, the little cat didn't seem to mind and was more distracted by the attention.

The hard part was over, and after doing it George realized there was a very high probability that the note wasn't going to get back to the owner. But, it was done.

Quickly, George stood up and rushed back inside, brushing his mitted hands off on his pants as if the cat was covered in dirt. Alex and Karl, who both watched the interaction unfold, dissolved into fits of laughter that had both of them rolling around on the floor. Which earned a dirty look.

"So, what have you guys been up to?" George asked, trying to steer the conversation away from what had just happened. He waited patiently for the two idiots to get over their fit and sit back up. He took the oven mitts and layers of sweaters off, throwing both into his laundry basket so they could be thoroughly washed (he didn't know where that cat had been).

"Well, I've been studying all day," Alex said, adjusting his crooked LAFD beanie.

On the screen, Karl grabbed the phone and leant it against something so it was sitting upright on their coffee table, and then he leant back against the couch so that both he and Alex could be in the frame. 

George rolled his eyes at his Alex's. It was strange to think that out of the three of them, he was the one who had his life the most put together. He was loud and rowdy, and he never shut up - especially when he knew he was embarrassing his friends - which always made him the life of the party. Since his first year, he made it his mission to attend every single party he was invited to, and he did, usually dragging Karl and George with him. He was the poster boy frat stereotype: and at a first glance, he seemed like he was at university just for the social aspect. But he was incredibly organized, studying law, and top of his class at that. If he was going to go to a party in the evening, he made sure to wake up early and get his studying done before he had to.

In contrast, Karl - who most certainly was not organized - looked like he had just woken up. He was wearing his signature sweater, which was several different shades of grey with a blocky swirl in the front, and a pair of pyjama pants with cats on them. Karl didn't make much time for assignments - and when he wrote essays or completed work it was almost always two hours before the assignment was due. He had other priorities.

"I was up all night" he stated the obvious, yawning and resting his head on his hands. He paused before shamefully admitting, "I was studying the soulmate thing again."

George and Alex both scoffed at that comment.

It was common knowledge: humans were born seeing only black, white and shades of grey and when a person meets their soulmate their world bursts into bright and vibrant colours. It seemed pretty simple, but it was much, much more complicated. For one, there was still no dictionary definition as to what a soulmate was. The concept was so difficult that despite being studies for years, had never truly been grasped. Some soulmates were platonic, others romantic. It was also uncertain as to what actually counted as "meeting one's soulmate", and so there was no possible way to predict how the mechanics worked. Some met, but it was almost more common that soulmates didn't meet. The concept itself seemed so ridiculous, and it was hard to believe unless you had actually experienced it - several people even denied it was real, even if there was concrete scientific evidence to support it.

Everything George had learnt about soulmates (see above) had been against his will, and mostly from Karl.

To say that Karl was obsessed with the idea of soulmates was an understatement. Karl wasn't even at university to study that field. In fact, he was majoring in film. But that didn't stop him from spending hours doing research and watching youtube videos on the mechanics behind soulmates. George had him blocked on Twitter because he would constantly retweet stories and theories, and fight with people who didn't believe in the concept. It had even become a rule that, when the three of them have a movie night, Karl was not allowed to pick the movie because he would always pick the movies that centred around soulmates and romance.

George theorized that it was because Karl's parents were soulmates, and so Karl grew up learning about colours and how magical the feeling of meeting a soulmate was. It brought him comfort, in the same way that a certain book or TV series would. He had one true goal in life, and that was to meet his soulmate. 

George was the opposite: he didn't care for the concept, and he definitely wasn't jealous of the people who could see colours. He had lived his entire life only being able to see shades of grey, and so it was all he knew. He didn't feel like he was missing something, so many people went their entire lives being unable to see colours and they were fine with it. Plus, he thought that the idea that everyone only got one true love was stupid. George's parents couldn't see colours, but that didn't make their love for each other any less valid. In his opinion, colours shouldn't dictate who people fall in love with, and if a person didn't see colours after meeting someone, it shouldn't discourage them from starting a relationship. Some of the greatest love stories, Romeo and Julliet, Me Before You, the donkey and the dragon from Shrek, The Fault in Our Stars, were all couples who couldn't see colours.

"George?" Alex cut through George's thoughts, "You're still coming to the party tonight?"

"I don't know" George stated, glancing down at his floor and reminding himself about the midterm he had on Monday, "I might have to sit this one out"

He started to collect his papers in an unorganized fashion. There were at least thirty pages, some of which had floated under his bed and computer, and George wasn't enough of a try-hard to number them. Nevermind going to a party, he was going to spend all night trying to figure out the order.

"Oh, come on!" Karl protested, "If I'm going, you're going and that's final"

"Oh shut it, Karl," Alex said, turning to his roommate overdramatically and pointing a finger, "The only reason you come to parties is that you're so convinced that you're going to meet your soulmate at one and magically fall in love and live happily ever after"

"Oh yeah! You're totally going to meet your soulmate playing pool at a university party - that's so romantic" George said sarcastically, popping back into his phone's view. Karl shot him a dirty look.

"Nah, you're going to meet your soulmate when you get randomly partnered together in class" Alex butted in, "Like that one stupid movie you tricked us into watching last week"

"Or maybe you'll meet by chance when he or she asks you to hold the elevator!" George put the back of his hand against his hand and sighed and fell down onto the floor dramatically as if he was a princess in a Disney movie, "And then you'll kiss and have seventeen babies and live happily ever after"

"Or what if-"

"Okay, that's enough guys," Karl said, crossing his arms and pouting, "Just out of spite, I'm going to meet the love of my life at this party tonight"

"Oh yeah, bet" George challenged, "I'll give you one hundred dollars if you do"

Karl smiled confidently, "I'm about to be one hundred dollars richer"


	2. Confetti Pranks Serve as the Best Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This chapter focuses on introducing Clay and Nick, as well as Sam who plays a very minor role in the story as a whole (he's going to pop in and out). Yes, for the majority of the book I will be using real first names because it's easier. It may seem like filler but it's necessary for the next chapter! Sorry if updates are a bit slow - I'm a very busy student! Also I apologize for any mistakes, it is 1 AM.
> 
> Have a great day :)

OCTOBER 16TH

"Do you really think this is going to work?" Clay asked, pulling the black beanie down over his ears to hide most of his lightly coloured hair. He looked around cautiously, flipping his jacket hood up to make sure he wasn't recognized. He glanced up at the white clock on the school walls, which read 7:08 PM and then over at the security camera that looked like it was from the 1960s and hadn't been used since then.

If there was one thing he loved about this University, it was its shit security system.

"Don't doubt me" his friend, Nick, turned to him and smirked before going back to what he was doing, which was stringing a tripwire from the whiteboard to the teacher's desk at the front of the class. The string was almost invisible, only illuminated by the light - only visible if someone really looked for it and even then it could be confused as a cobweb. Clay followed the string up to the cardboard box that was perched on a ledge above the whiteboard and filled with the best confetti that you could buy at the local dollar store.

The box was hidden from the human eye, and how Nick actually got the box all the way up there was a mystery in itself, but Clay wasn't going to ask too many questions.

Ever since the professor called Nick out in front of three hundred people because he fell asleep for a minute in class, the duo had been planning out this "prank" as retaliation. On Monday morning at 8:00 am sharp class would start, and at 8:05 the professor would meander in slowly complaining about teaching as he always did. On his way to his desk, he would trip over the wire, and then the classroom would be covered in confetti. It seemed like the perfect revenge.

Unsurprisingly, sneaking into a locked room after classes had been over and after the janitor had cleaned it for the weekend was a bit of a challenge. But luck was on their side. For one, classes in the hall ended at 1 PM, and that meant that the teacher would have left the classroom. Clay took it upon himself to figure out the janitor schedule (which may or may not have involved stealing some keys and sneaking into the janitor's closet) and some guy named Roy cleaned this floor on Fridays, and since it was a weekend he was always done by four. He was long gone. Their biggest challenge was sneaking into the room itself because almost all of the classes were locked up during the weekends, but Nick happened to be good at picking locks, and again, the security system in the building was complete and utter shit.

Technically, what they were doing wasn't against any rules, because like the buildings themselves, the University's rule book was ancient. Listed on page five in bold letters was the rule that all students would have fair treatment and unlimited access to every classroom and building. That would be their defence. Although, that didn't mean they were completely safe and if any of them got caught they were surely going to get their asses beat, and Clay really couldn't be caught again (hence the hood and beanie).

"Done!" Nick said, standing up and stepping back to admire his work, "This is going to be a great way to start the week."

Clay picked up his backpack and started to put the extra supplies they had back in it, "Do you think it's going to work?"

"Oh, I know it will" Nick laughed.

Clay slung the backpack over his shoulders and the two of them left the scene, meeting their friend, Sam, who had been assigned watch duty, at the door. By the time they had left the room and relocked the door, it was 7:30, which meant that they managed to do the prank way quicker than they had originally planned and that Clay might actually be able to grab something to eat before he had to be at a party. It was so easy, In fact, it was way easier than they thought it would be, and there was a little voice in the back of his head that found that suspicious.

"Hey!" a voice said, making the three of them freeze instantly. Neither of them had to turn around to recognize who it was, the voice was enough. It was a teacher who Clay had for English during his first year, and despite the fact that she was four foot nothing and dressed like she was from the 1900s, she was terrifying, "What are you three doing here?"

"Professor Nelson! Hi!" Nick said, faking a smile and scratching the back of his neck nervously, "How is your day going?"

The professor narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, and Clay and Sam shared a look that said 'we are so screwed right now' as she scowled at them, "Last I checked, you students weren't allowed in this building passed six pm. I should be reporting you to the dean".

So, maybe Clay celebrated a little too soon.

"Sorry!" Nick apologized, he scratched the back of his neck and his eyes darted around the room as he quickly came up with a lie, 

"I forgot my textbook-" 

-He said, definitely not carrying a textbook- 

"-and I asked if I could and look through the lost and found for it-" 

-Which was in the main building, located across campus- 

"-But we're leaving now! So don't worry about us!"

Despite the fact that Nick was literally the worst person at lying in the entire world, Professor Nelson just stepped aside and let them carry on, and a wave of relief washed over the three boys. Luck really was on their side today. They didn't question it, in fact, they didn't even speak as they ran through the buildings and outside as far away as possible. 

"What happens if she reports us to the dean?" Sam asked, taking off his hood and running a hand through his hair.

"If she wanted to report us to the dean she wouldn't have let us go, she would've dragged us there by our ears!" Nick said. Which was true, if there was one thing that teacher liked more than scaring the shit out of freshmen, it was getting students in trouble. 

"We'll be fine~," Clay said, rolling his eyes, "Besides, we have a party to get to."

All three of them had been waiting for the party all week. As sad as it was, parties - and stupid pranks, like they just did - were the highlights of their week. It was a few hours where they could laugh, hang out with people and forget about the horrors of college. More often than not they went overboard, and one time Clay woke up in the city suburbs in a sketchy motel that hadn't been properly cleaned with some girl he didn't recognize and a wicked hangover to top it all off. 

The story got worse though, and that was because the girl woke up with the ability to see colours.

Clay wasn't her soulmate, he couldn't see anything and still couldn't. It wasn't one-sided either - he looked it up, that didn't exist. She could see colours though, and despite his protesting, she was damn well convinced they were meant to be. 

Thankfully, Sam and Nick got him out of there quickly, and they all swore that the next time they went to a party they were not going to drink that much - but that promise was probably (definitely) going to be broken.

When they got back to their building, Sam said his goodbyes and told them to meet him outside the lobby in half an hour, and they parted ways. Clay was the first into his and Nick's apartment, kicking off his dirty shoes and throwing his backpack onto the floor by the door. Nick tried to scold him, but he rolled his eyes and headed to the living room.

He had bigger priorities: it was 7:50 PM and his cat had been outside since 1:00.

He was going to let her in before they left, but as usual, she was nowhere to be found. Clay wasn't too sure where she went in the day, but she always came back shortly after the sun had disappeared and so he didn't put much thought into it. He slid the door open a crack so he didn't let too much cold air in, and Patches slipped through and bolted towards her food bowl as fast as possible. She moved so fast that she was just a blur, but Clay still noticed that something was off. There was a piece of paper stuck in her collar.

Chasing her down wasn't that hard, considering that she was distracted by her food bowl (which, to add, was already half-empty by the time Clay got into the room). He quickly grabbed the paper and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, holding it up so he could read it.

"Open me." was written on the front in messy handwriting.

He stared down at the cat, and then back at the note, then back at the cat and back at the note again, "When did you learn how to write?"

Okay, that wasn't his best moment.

"Oh, I'm stupid, you're a cat," he stated, mostly to himself this time. Thankfully, Nick was in his room getting ready, or else he would never hear the end of that. It was a good indicator that he should probably get more sleep. He was running on four hours after all (this was the excuse he was going with).

Moving on from that, he opened the note carefully and flattened the creases so he could read the writing, which was still almost illegible - so to be fair, it wasn't that far of a reach to think the cat wrote it.

"Get your cat off my balcony?" He mumbled the question. He glanced down at Patches in confusion, as if she was going to give an answer. She briefly looked up at him and gave him a look that must've been cat language for 'you are an idiot' before going back to eating the last bits of food left.

Before he could actually process what the note meant, Nick came out of his room and asked if he was almost ready. He wasn't, he was nowhere near. But he was more interested in the random note that had been shoved into his cat's collar.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with this?" he held up the note to the light as if he was looking for a hidden message. There was a clear answer, and that was to just simply keep Patches inside. It was safer, but she loved going outside and he wasn't going to be cruel - he already felt guilty enough leaving her alone when he went to classes.

So, he came up with a stupid idea, and he wrote a note back.

"Dear person who wrote that note. Sorry bout that. I can't control where my cat goes. She's not exactly going to listen to me when I ask her to stay away from your balcony. I couldn't even get her to stop ripping up my curtains. Just let her do her thing, she won't hurt you or anything I promise you"

He added a nice little smiley face on the end of the note before folding it up in a similar way the other note was. He didn't attempt to hook it into the collar right away, because Patches would find a way to discard it before she was let outside in the morning, and he didn't tell Nick because he wasn't in the mood for a lecture about "how much of a dumbass" he was.

He wrote "to whomever it concerns" on the front (because he thought the formality was funny) and set a reminder in his phone. Which, at the same time, brought him back to his senses and made him realize he had five minutes to get ready and meet Sam outside.

He walked into his room, stepping over discarded clothing pieces, and threw the note onto his desk and on top of his coding textbook, which made him feel guilty for a second. He had a test on Monday, and he hadn't even started writing proper notes yet, nevermind studying.

But, the party seemed more interesting, so as quickly as it appeared, his guilt vanished and he was more concerned with finding a nice shirt to go with his jeans and making sure his hair looked nice. He chose a simple dark button-up shirt and kept the black skinny jeans that he had been wearing all day. If he recalled correctly, his mom told him that the shirt was dark green, and apparently, that was a good colour. Not that he'd know, or care for that matter. He had one thing planned for the party: get laid, and he was almost 100% sure whoever he ended up with wasn't going to be able to see colours anyway.


	3. Goggles and Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay and George flirt over games of beer pong and pool, and George briefly notices something off with the pool ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So slight warning, this chapter has a bit of a mature theme. It takes place at a party and involves drinking as well as some implied sexual references. If you are uncomfortable with that it's understandable. This chapter does serve as a good one to base off of how far I'll go into talking about each topic in the future (if that changes I'll be sure to put a warning). 
> 
> Although it's explained sort of in the chapter, in this universe in order for colours to appear the two have to introduce themselves using real names (so it might be a tad confusing)
> 
> Have a great read! :) it's also late so if I made a mistake no I didn't.
> 
> also my Twitter is salinesltn if you’d like to follow :) although idk why all I do is shitpost likes it’s 2014 tumblr

When Clay walked into the party, he was taken aback for a minute at just how many people were crowded into the house. It was way more than last time, which both excited him and terrified him at the same time. The presence of so many people ignited something in the back of Clay's head, specifically the idea of soulmates. 

Though, it wasn't likely he was going to meet his. There was an unspoken rule in university, that not many people even realized they did, where you didn't introduce yourself to random people at parties and if you did you used stupid nicknames as a loophole in the system Clay thought it was stupid when he first hear people talking about it. 

Meeting his soulmate wasn't the top of his priorities, and he was utterly indifferent to the idea itself. The concept was cool, sure, and maybe later in life he would appreciate it more, but he wasn't looking to find that person just yet. He didn't want to spend his last years of college tied down in a relationship when he could be single and free, sleeping with whoever he wanted and creating small little relationships that weren't a big commitment. So he went along with the idea of using nicknames.

When he turned back to his friends, Sam had already left with a couple of people to play pool. He was the designated driver tonight. Nick waved to several people as they greeted him, laughing at inside jokes and almost tripping over the shoes and cans discarded on the floor. He had pregamed on the ride over, challenging himself to drink three coolers in the time it took for them to get from the apartments to the party. He did it, even while Sam protested from the driver's seat and threatened to pull over and kick him out if he even joked about throwing up.

Nick hugged some random person as if he had known them forever (he definitely hadn't - Clay had never seen that man in his life) and that was when Clay knew beyond a doubt that his friend was already absolutely wasted.

"Oh shit," Nick said, locking eyes on a white fold-out table in the centre of the living room, he reached to grab Clay's arm, missing the first time completely, and pointed to it, "Dude we gotta play pong"

But it was a college party after all - Clay might as well join him.

On the other side of the room, George was stood holding a can of something he couldn't pronounce the name of and watching as Karl and Alex lost their fifth consecutive game of pong - officially making them the worst team to compete in the "pong Olympics" that was being held.

Side note: despite the fact that Karl was rolling on the floor and Alex was screaming as the last shot was made, it wasn't that serious. It was a whiteboard with names scribbled on in sloppy handwriting and half-erased, squiggly tally's that marked how many games each team had one. There wasn't a prize unless bragging rights counted.

Even though some cute girl with heavy eyeliner and space buns had asked him to team with her, George was much happier sitting on the sidelines and watching. He had a test on Monday after all, and he definitely didn't need to be hungover the next day because there would be no way he would be able to study. Plus, this was one of those parties that people made stupid decisions at and he was not going to get sloshed and embarrass himself. Karl called him a buzzkill, and Alex called him a word that was much harsher than that (and he would not repeat), but George called it being responsible. 

Plus, someone had to be sober enough to call a taxi for them to get home.

George briefly recognized one of his friend's next "challengers", who was loudly introducing himself and writing his and his partner's name on the slot on the whiteboard. Although, he was so out of it that his writing looked like gibberish. If George recalled correctly, his name was Nick, and he was tormented for falling asleep in class one time. It wasn't very surprising that he was at this party. Beside him, however, was a guy who George had never seen before. He was tall (though, at 5'8, everyone was tall to George), and he had nice light hair that looked like it hadn't even been brushed. He wore a button-up that shined as the flashing lights from the party bounced off of it, and it fit him well.

Suddenly, the game of pong became a bit more interesting.

But, as quickly as those thoughts appeared, he pushed them away. If there was one thing he was absolutely not going to do, it was lust over some random guy at a party. That was just asking for trouble.

After a rock paper scissors match between the teams (in which Karl lost pitifully), and a fight over whether or not they would be able to swat the ball away (which they eventually agreed wasn't allowed), the guy stepped up to take the first shot. He took his sweet old time with it too, which made George roll his eyes as he watched him furrow his eyebrows and calculate the projection of his shot. Unsurprisingly, the ball landed neatly in the center cup with a small splash. George hated tryhards.

Thankfully, his friend - Nick - was terrible. He shot the ball with no clear direction and it hit Karl in the nose, which left him apologizing profusely while Karl's infectious laugh drowned him out.

The next few rounds were anti-climatic, to say the least. Karl missed all the shots he took, and if George didn't know him any better he would have assumed he was throwing on purpose. Alex was better, claiming that the first five games he played were just his warm-ups. He made most of his shots, and barely missed the others.

Nick balanced Karl out, missing all but one shot, which he only made because luck was on his side. However, their team was winning with three cups still standing. The other guy was definitely taking the game way too seriously and he managed to make every single shot perfectly. 

He was probably cheating or something, George thought to himself, coming up with ridiculous and unreasonable ways he could have rigged the game. But come on, what were the odds that he made every single shot, he has to have some sort of trick up his sleeve.

It wasn't a shock when he easily sunk the ball into Karl and Alex's last cup.

"Alright, I'm done," Alex said, holding his hands up in surrender, and then he turned to George, "Sub in for me, I'm going to find some water."

"I'm good right here," George said quickly, realizing that all four people had their eyes on him as he was pressured to come up with a good enough excuse to wave them off. Without thinking too much, he said "I'm terrible anyways."

"Bullshit" Alex shot, pointing a finger at him accusingly, "I've watched you play so many games and you've never lost!"

"Come on man!" Karl whined, "Just one game, please! I think I'm getting better!"

George rolled his eyes, but he already knew it was no use arguing. He grabbed a few cans of cider from his bag and placed them on the table, carefully filling up each cup just enough to be weighted, but not enough to get him too drunk too quickly. That was Karl's mistake, he graciously overestimated how much he could drink and liked to fill up the cup three-quarters of the way.

"Interesting choice" the lighter-haired boy commented, crossing his arms. George glanced up with a questioning look and he shrugged and gestured towards the cider.

"If I'm going to play, I'm drinking my drinks, there's no way in hell I'm going to drink your disgusting American beer." George scoffed, chucking his empty cans into the trash bag a few feet away. He grabbed the least sticky and gross pong balls he could, "You first, or me?"

"You can go, British boy" the boy smiled, holding his hand out, "You're going to lose anyway!"

George rolled his eyes. He didn't take much time to line up and shoot, and the ball landed in the center back cup with a splash. In response, he grinned. Alex was right, he was pretty good at this game.

"Not bad" his opponent commented, "Lucky shot"

"Your turn, Karl," George said as he looked down at his friend - or where he used to be - to hand him the ball. In the short amount of time, Karl had managed to get up and disappear off to god knows where and George sighed deeply, facepalming in embarrassment. That bitch had whined about wanting to play one more round and then left him to play a game he didn't even want to play in the first place.

"My turn again then, I guess" he shrugged. He lined up the second shot and hit the rim of the front cup, making the ball bounce into the other guy's hand.

"Oh, that sucks," the guy said sarcastically, a smirk curling onto his lips. He didn't take long to make both shots, hitting one cup after another, which, made George cross his arms and roll his eyes. He took a drink of the cider quickly trying not to take too long, and he realized quickly that a sour and fizzy drink was not the best decision he could have made. He was going to be so sick in the morning - so much for being responsible.

George went to make his shot but he was cut off,

"Hey! No, you don't! I sunk both shots, so I get another two. Aren't you supposed to be good at this game?"

Although it sounded harsh, it wasn't. In fact, it was said in a tone that was unmistakably flirty, and George scoffed.

Then the lighter haired boy made two more shots back to back.

George drank the next two cups without hesitation, the liquid going down easier than before, his newfound friend - or enemy, he hadn't decided - cheering him on jokingly. George shook his head and stacked the cups into the two others.

Then the final two shots were made, and George had officially lost the game.

"Oh that was cheap, I need a rematch" he groaned.

The boy tossed him the balls, and after George had refilled all six cups, he made the two shots. This time he took more time to line up, and he sunk the balls into the right and left sides of the back row. 

"Last round was a warm-up" he commented, tilting his head slightly to line up his next shot. He aimed for the cup in the front, but missed slightly and hit the cup on the left instead, but he still made it in. 

"I need something to call you by when I insult you," the boy said, leaning on the table casually and gesturing with his empty cup, "What's your name"

George hesitated.

For a very brief second, he let a thought play through his mind of using his actual name. Surely, it wasn't a big deal - it wasn't like this guy was important, he was just some person playing pong, but the mere thought of it made him cringe, and he pushed it to the back of his mind as quickly as it appeared. It shouldn't have even been a thought in the first place.

"I'm going to call you Goggles," the boy said quickly, straightening up a little. He looked genuinely concerned for a second, and George realized that he was frozen in spot.

He shook himself back into reality, and tried to put that awkward interaction behind him, "Goggles?"

The boy pointed to his head, and George reached up to feel a pair of sunglasses on his head. He took them off, and realized how stupid he must've looked: all night he had been wearing the stupid clout goggles that Karl had bought off of Amazon for two dollars. Karl had given them to him to hold at the start of the party, and he forgot about them completely.

"Fine, I'm Goggles, what's your name?"

The boy smirked, and confidently said, "Call me Dream"

George rolled his eyes, "That's lame."

"Whatever you say Goggles - now make the damn shot, I don't have all day"

George made his next shot, but he missed, and he blamed it on Dream rushing him.

Dream won the next game - but this was because he dared George to play the entire game wearing the dumb glasses and George couldn't see shit with them on.

George leant his head back and groaned, "I fucking hate this game." 

He took off the stupid glasses and hooked them onto the front of his sweatshirt. At the same time, he glanced around the room looking for any sign of Karl or Alex so that he could leave the game, but instead, he locked his eyes on an empty pool table. It was mostly neglected, only used to hold empty cups and half bottles of vodka, but it had potential. He pointed back at Dream, "How good at you at pool?"

Dream smirked, and of course, he said: "Better than I am at pong,"

"Then it's an even match"

The two of them worked together: Dream collected the balls and found cues that weren't sticky and gross while George cleaned off the table and threw everything in a trash bag. They didn't talk much, except for when they laughed at the fact that both their friends had ditched them so suddenly.

"Hey, Goggles! Catch" Dream shouted from across the room, and George barely looked up quick enough to see a cue tossed to him. He dropped the cups he had in his hands, and as they scattered all over the floor he caught the cue in time. He shot his new friend - acquaintance - a dirty look. Dream buckled over in laughter. George leant down and grabbed one of the gross, sticky cups, chucking it at him. It hit him square in the head, and he stopped laughing for a second and shot George a look that was a mixture of shock, surprise and disgust and George grinned in response. 

"Alright, what are we betting?" Dream asked. He took time stacking the balls in the correct order - but he only did that to spite George, who told him that it didn't matter as long as the eight was in the middle. He held the nine-ball up in the air towards the light, making a big deal of inspecting it for dust. He balled up the sleeve of his shirt in his fist and cleaned it off. George rolled his eyes, and in response, Dream winked, which made George feel his cheeks heat up.

Although he wouldn't admit it, for a second he let himself fantasize about something happening between them that night. It wasn't his fault that the guy was almost exactly his type. A one night stand didn't mean anything: he was Goggles and this guy was Dream - it bypassed the idea of soulmates perfectly.

"I'm not drinking anymore..." George commented, cutting his thoughts off, running a hand through his hair and looking around the room for distractions, "...no more drinking bets."

"Fine by me" Dream said, placing the nine ball into its position and removing the rack. He rolled the white ball to George, letting him break. George placed the ball on the spot and bent down, aligning his cue at the perfect angle where if he spots with the right amount of speed, the force would knock the left-back corner ball into the pocket. He went to shoot, and as he did, Dream came up with his challenge, "If I win, I get a date with you"

George choked. He still managed to hit the balls with enough force to break them, but they didn't scatter as planned. He looked up at Dream, who had a satisfied grin on, and narrowed his eyes and exclaimed "That's not fair!"

"You made the shot" Dream shrugged. He walked to the left side of the table, "It's not my fault you got distracted."

He winked. George scoffed.

'Fine' George thought in his head, 'If we're going to play it that way'.

Dream eyed the striped twelve that was right on the edge of the pocket. George walked to the other right of the table, putting both his hands on it and leaning down, so he was right above the ball and in Dream's view. If Dream was going to play dirty, then so was he, and he was going to make sure he pushed his limits. 

Besides, there was no harm in flirting, it didn't mean anything serious.

He watched as the other carefully positioned himself so he would just tap the side of the ball and sink it easy. George looked down and realized that if he missed slightly, the angle would send the white ball bouncing off the wall and into the corner pocket. George moved his head to the side, curling his lips into a smile, and he waited until Dream was just about to draw his cue back before he proposed his idea, "Then if I win, you have to give me your shirt."

He caught the other off guard, and when he made the shot he missed, and it went exactly as George had predicted, with the white ball getting sunk. He looked up, shocked, and George did exactly what he did earlier: he winked.

"You motherfucker." Dream mumbled. George grabbed the white ball from the pocket and walked to the end of the table, making sure to shove Dream lightly as he walked past - who was stood almost awestruck. 

He lined his shot up and hit the solid three directly into the left side pocket. His next shot was at the two in the back right corner, and he got that one in too. That was about the same time Dream came to his senses, and he started to walk around the table so he was opposite of George. George lined up to take a shot at the six, which was riskier than the other shots because it was behind a striped ball.

But something stopped him from making the shot right away - something about the pool ball. Maybe it was the way the light was bouncing off of it or maybe even the shadows, but it was a shade that George had never seen before. From certain angles, it looked almost saturated, and had George been completely out of his mind, he would have almost suggested it was coloured. 

But then Dream interrupted his thoughts.

"I think I'd take you to a cute little diner on the edge of town," He said, leaning on hand on the table and putting his other on his hip, "Or maybe we'll go to a fancy place that serves steak."

George looked up, distracted, "We're both in University, I don't think either of us can afford a steak dinner."

"Then we'll get take out, and eat it in my apartment. I'll even clean my room for you" Dream said. George looked back at the table. The six-ball had returned back to the normal shade of grey it always was, and it disappeared from his thoughts entirely. He refocused, trying to ignore Dream and his stupid date plans, and realigned his shot instead. He made the shot and it missed by a hair, but he didn't care too much because at least this time it wasn't because of the other boy.

Dream took his shot quickly, hitting a striped ball into the opposite corner pocket from him. 

"Wow, you'd clean your room for me, a true romantic," George said sarcastically, "You'd probably light a crayon on fire and call it a candle."

Dream snorted, lining up his next shot at the ten, "Hey! Crayons can burn for fifteen to thirty minutes, that's all we'd need"

Dream got the ten in, but when he shot for the fourteen he missed and knocked one of George's into a pocket.

"Only fifteen minutes? That's a pretty lame date" George said, lining up his shot.

"Well, that's just the amount of time it would take for me to get you into bed."

George missed his shot completely, and he stood up quickly. All of his blood rushed to his face, and he covered it, embarrassed. He gave enough of a reaction that Dream started to laugh harder than he had before - to the point where he sounded like a god damn tea kettle.

"That's so dumb," George mumbled, flustered.

Once Dream had gotten over his annoying laughing fit, he made his next couple of shots, sinking every single one until he only had the eight ball left. George couldn't think of anything to say back. He groaned, not thrilled at the idea of losing. He knew it was all for fun, and there was no way in hell that they were actually going to go through with the date, but even the thought made him nervous. 

Maybe his prayers were answered because Dream missed the eight by a whole inch, and the white ball went straight into the corner pocket, which meant that George had won.

"Okay, that's just bullshit" 

"You lost Dream" George laughed, "On the eight-ball too! Oh, that's gotta sting"

"Well, a deals a deal, Gogs" Dream said, shortening the name, and he reached for the top button of his shirt. George froze for a second, suddenly hyper-aware of the number of people that were in the room - sure they hadn't been paying attention, but some attractive, light-haired guy stripping? That was sure to turn a few heads.

"No no! For the love of god please keep your shirt on" George protested, "If I lost I wasn't going to go on a date with you, so it's only fair. Plus you probably stink - I don't want that."

"How about we play another round?" Dream asked, wandering back over to the table and retrieving the balls - he was physically restraining himself from going on a tangent about how he didn't smell. George didn't really notice though, he kept his eyes still trained on the shirt, and how the top couple buttons had been undone and the light bounced in a way that illuminated the other's collarbones.

George shook his head, quickly realizing that he was in way too deep. He had a lot of restraint, but he had managed to work his way through a six-pack and he didn't trust where the thoughts were coming from. He tried to think of an excuse, but couldn't.

Thankfully, Alex picked the perfect time to show up, wandering through the crowd. His eyes lit up for a second when he spotted George, "Hey man! I've been looking for you everywhere. Karl is puking his guts out in the upstairs bathroom and I need you to help me take him home."

George expected a wave of relief to fall over him because he was finally free. But, instead, he was almost sad. 

But that was just because he was drunk. He shook that thought away, turning to Dream, "I'm so sorry-"

Dream smiled, genuinely, "Don't be! I hope your friend get's better!"

As Alex and George left the room, that feeling of sadness returned, and maybe for a second he considered even asking if he could stay behind, and go back to play another game. It was selfish though - if George was wasted in a sketchy bathroom, Karl would be right by his side helping him get through it. So he settled with turning his head and giving Dream a small little wave before he left the room.

And if he saw the strange tint of the pool table's carpet, and how it matched the six ball from earlier - that was just his subconsciousness fucking with him.


	4. The Cat Came Back (The Very Next Day!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George wakes up hungover with a bit of regret, and the cat pays him an early morning business. Then Karl comes over with a bit of a predicament. And all of his happens before 10:00 AM on a bright Saturday morning.

OCTOBER 17TH

There were many things wrong with the apartment building George was living in: the glass doors were known to slide off their railings, the provided wifi was slow and unreliable, there was a moderate spider infestation, and, worst of all, the bedrooms were designed in the most annoying and least practical way.

To start it all off, the glass door that leads to the balcony was in the very center of the room which was inconvenient for all its own little issues. Then the wooden bed frame (that was actually bolted to the floor) was on the top right corner. The desk where George worked was parallel to the bed with a nice window overtop of it, and that too was bolted to the wall so that it was unmovable.

Now, none of this actually matters, but it meant that his bed was in the perfect position for the sun to shine directly in his eyes at 8 AM every morning.

Now, the simple solution would be to install curtains, and that leads to the biggest problem with the place: there was no way to actually hang up curtains because the genius who designed the rooms forgot to install rods for them. But, maybe it was a good thing because it had accidentally solved George's long-running problem of sleeping through morning lectures. Even if waking up early sucked, it kept him on track.

On the other hand, it wasn't such a great thing when he woke up hungover.

And George was so, so very hungover at the moment.

Let it be a lesson, one that he was sure to write in big black letters with a permanent marker on the top of his whiteboard: never, ever use sugary drinks when playing beer pong.

He wasn't sure if it was a good thing that he remembered the night before. The games with Dream seemed to occupy his thoughts late into the night, and he hated himself for wishing that he went back and found him. He would never admit that playing pong and pool was the first time he actually truly enjoyed himself at a party since freshman year - and it was all because of the pretty boy with his stupid smirk.

Truthfully, it wasn't Karl who kept him from going back - by the time they had found him he was conscious and throwing up but it wasn't too serious. Instead, it was because George didn't get involved with romance or even flings for that matter - the idea terrified him. He had his reasons, ones that he would never bring up. Those reasons stopped him from talking to the cute boy at the library, they stopped him from calling the number that a girl left on his coffee cup, and now they had stopped him from going back to Dream. He had missed a chance and secretly he hated himself for it.

To add to all the pain and despair (because nothing ever went right), as if it was set up by God himself, his dog randomly, and without warning, jumped up and started barking, trampling over George as it got up from the bed and bolted right towards the sliding glass door, it's paws hitting it with a giant thud.

It was just a perfect start to the morning.

George rolled over and groaned, rubbing his eyes and trying to get used to the bright room, which in the end just hurt his head more. He became less concerned about the pity party he was throwing himself and more concerned about getting his dog to shut up before the cranky old lady next door showed up at his front door with a rolling pin. He sat up in his bed, inspecting what had caused his dog's fit, even if he already had a pretty good clue as to why.

As he had expected, sitting right in the middle of his balcony, staring right at the dog and licking its paws, was the bane of his very existence.

The small digital clock on his bedside table read eight-thirty-five, indicating it was almost four and a half hours early. As if it somehow knew George would be hungover and had to make sure that he didn't have a decent start to the day.

It didn't take long for the dog to settle down, and it eventually went back to its spot on the bed and started to mess up the blankets to get comfortable. George got a better view of the cat, and he realized there was something different.

Sending a note to the cat's owner was ridiculous - George was painfully aware of that. But it was nowhere near as crazy as the fact that the cat had a new piece of paper attached to its collar. Despite the fact that the sunlight was blinding, if he squinted George could tell that it wasn't his note - this one was plain printer paper and it was unevenly folded.

The owner had sent a note back.

He picked up a black sweatshirt from the ground and put on some grey sweatpants, putting it on as he stumbled out of the bedroom and towards the door. To be safe, he grabbed the oven mitts from his laundry. He wasn't as scared as he was the previous night, but in the back of his mind, he was half-convinced the cat was only calm because it knew others were watching over facetime. Now that there were no witnesses it could very well pounce on him and tear his face right off.

Admittedly, that was a little far fetched.

He opened his door, stepping out, "Okay, are we going to do this the easy way or the hard way."

The cat didn't respond (obviously, it was a cat.), but instead shook itself to let the piece of paper fall out of its collar and onto the ground. Then it jumped up onto the railing and then immediately to the next deck over, leaving as if it's only mission for the day was to deliver the note. It eventually disappeared onto a balcony about five apartments over, and George leaned down to pick up the note with a thousand questions in his head.

"Easy way it is, I guess."

He examined it as he walked back into his house, noticing that it looked like it had been folded and unfolded several times, and that part of the outside had a bit of pen ink smeared on it. Sitting down in his chair, he opened it up carefully to read it.

The first part of the note was simple, and George tried not to - but definitely did - take offence at the fact that it was basically saying: kindly, I don't care, mind your business. More importantly, it meant that George's problem remained unsolved and that the fowl beast was going to be back on his balcony every single day for the near future.

George laid his head against his open textbook, groaning loud enough that his dog woke up from it's sleep, tilting it's head as if to ask him if he was okay. Which, he was most certainly not. He sighed deeply. This was not helping his hangover.

He was about to crumble up the note and toss it, but then he saw the second part. The letters were wonky, and some words were horribly misspelled, crossed out and rewritten.

**"PS it might be because I'm so drunk right now, but we should definitely be friends I think that would be funny. How are you? How old are you? Are you a grandma - if you're a grandma that's totally cool I don't discriminate!"**

George debated sending a note back but quickly shook that idea away. Instead, he turned on his computer and went to google, revisiting a search that he had made way too many times now: how to get rid of stray cats. He was going to get rid of the cat if it was the last thing he was going to do.

He didn't get too far into his first article before his dog was barking again: this time at the front door. He checked his hair in his mirror to make sure he looked semi-professional before walking out to answer it. It wasn't even nine in the morning, and he was fearing it was one of his neighbours coming to complain about his dog barking. To which he would give them the same speech he must've given a million times: if you don't like it you shouldn't have moved into an apartment that allowed pets.

But, when he opened the door he wasn't greeted by an angry old lady and, instead, a seemingly pissed off - and still in his pyjamas - Alex and a very wide-eyed and shocked Karl who was still wearing last night's clothes. George raised an eyebrow, looking down to see that Alex was wearing mismatched shoes and up to see Karl was clutching one of his random notebooks with a swirl on the front.

"What did you two idiots do now?" George asked, stepping out of the way and letting them into his place. This wasn't the first time, and wouldn't be the last time, that the two of them showed up unannounced at weird times in the day. George was just thankful that this time Karl still had eyebrows and Alex wasn't in need of stitches.

"There's no way... there's no way" Karl mumbles, repeating the words over and over again and walking around George's apartment. His eyes were wide as if he had seen a ghost, and he seemed to look at everything like a child would - like it was all new and exciting.

George raised an eyebrow at Alex, who he shrugged in response.

"What's with him?"

"I don't know," Alex said as he made himself at home, rummaging through George's cupboards to find something to eat. He pulled out a cereal box and used it to point to Karl as he explained, "He woke me up this morning all frantic, and then he insisted we come over here immediately. He didn't even let me grab a bagel."

He grabbed one of George's bowls from the cupboard and the last bit of milk from the fridge, pouring himself breakfast - cereal before milk, as he insisted was the correct way and the two of them watched as Karl moved around, looking at different decorations that George had scattered on his shelves and walls and eventually, Karl focused on one of George's mugs. It was a cool pattern: some stars and circles that were all different shades of grey. George liked it, but if he recalled correctly the last time Karl had seen it he made fun of it. Karl opened the notebook that he had been clutching to his chest, flipping to a particular page and running his finger along it as if he was searching for something.

"Is he high?" George asked, watching as Karl held the mug up close and then held it against the right sleeve of his sweatshirt as if he was comparing it.

"I'm not high" Karl stated, speaking coherently for the first time since he entered the place. The ghostly look on his face had been replaced with a small smile, and he seemed almost content as if he had found exactly what he was looking for. He put the mug back on the counter, reaching up for another one. This one didn't have a pattern, it was a solid shade. He compared it to his book again.

"Then why are you going all Bill Nye on my stuff?"

"Something happened at the party," Karl said, simply, as if what he said didn't make absolutely no sense.

"Yeah, something did happen: you drank way too much, then threw up for half an hour straight and ruined my favourite shoes" Alex shot, pointing at him with his spoon accusingly. George nodded in agreement, he had never seen Karl so wasted before, and it was a miracle he was even upright this early in the morning.

"No! This is much more important than a stupid pair of-"

"-they cost like two hundred-"

"-this mug is pink..." Karl stated, holding up the first mug he had grabbed, "... and the stars are blue, and the circles are purple."

The room got very quiet after that. George, not very good at words himself, looked to Alex for help. But the other stood with his mouth hanging open in just as much shock and awe.

"That's... great!" George eventually stammered out, faking a gigantic smile and trying to be happy. It was a happy occasion, right?

He felt much better when Karl started chuckling and said, "Yeah, I guess it happened at some point during the party last night! It's so weird, suddenly everything is so bright! Alex and I own literally nothing colourful in our house though so I came over here just to make sure I wasn't seeing things!"

Karl started to go off on a tangent, about what colours everything in George's apartment were. He held up his notebook, which George could now see had printed off an image that he was using as a guide, and used it to diagnose colours that he wasn't familiar with. George's couch was dark green, his tea kettle was red, and his towels were apparently a bright yellow. He also talked about the colours of his sweater: how previously he thought it was different shades of grey, but the torso was purple, and the sleeves were composed of different colours like pink and orange and blue. George didn't much care for it, but he liked watching Karl bounce around all happy and carefree. After all, this was the thing that he was most passionate about.

"Well, who are they?" Alex asked once Karl eventually got tired and sat down on the couch, finally bringing light to the elephant in the room.

"That's the tricky part," Karl said.

"What are they like fifty or something?"

"No! - I mean, maybe. I mean... I don't know!" Karl stammered. He scratched the back of his neck and glanced at the floor, embarrassed, "You see I don't actually... remember them?"

Oh.

For the second time, the room got silent again, but Karl was quick to fill that silence.

"It's okay!" He said, his voice cheery and painfully optimistic, "I just need help figuring out a plan! So that's why we're here!"

So, that's how the three of them ended up around George's computer: Alex on his second bowl of cereal and flinging milk everywhere as he made stupid comments and pointed at stuff with his spoon, and Karl more focused on creating his spreadsheet of names and numbers and student emails and pushing his own breakfast to the side, and George who was guiltily trying to ignore the computer science textbook that laid discarded on his bed that he was supposed to be studying.

George picked up Karl's notebook, flipping through the pages, amazed at how much information he had stuffed into it. Most of it was full of popular theories about how soulmates are chosen, but in a chapter near the middle, there was a tabbed page that explained all about what happens when soulmates meet.

"It couldn't just be anyone." George points out, "It had to be someone who you had a conversation with, and you had to actually formally introduce yourself. There's a good chance that the other person remembers you, and how common is the name 'Karl" anyway."

"True!" Alex said, "Maybe your stupid name will actually come in handy for once."

That earned him a punch in the shoulder.

"Yeah, my name is stupid" Karl rolled his eyes, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't your entire highschool call you Quackity."

Alex scoffed and crossed his arms, "I should've never told you that."

George read farther down the page. There were technicalities when it came to meeting soulmates, sometimes when colours would appear even without a proper introduction. But he skipped over most of that because in those cases colours would appear more slowly and one at a time whereas Karl could see everything fully.

In the back of his mind, George was doubtful, because the only indication of finding your soulmate was the burst of colours. It wasn't like in those cheesy romance novels where the two hearts would start to feel warmer as they got closer; this wasn't a fairytale where you just knew who it was beyond any doubt. There was no other clue. So while Karl's plan of contacting people would work, and with the way that gossip - especially this kind - spread around campus they would eventually find someone who started seeing colours at the party. What if the other person didn't remember either?

How would Karl be able to know if it was the right person or not?

"Hey, what's this?" Alex asked, and George turned around to see him holding the note from earlier. Thankfully, it distracted George from thinking more deeply, and to himself, he agreed that he would never mention that thought to Karl.

Alex started to read the note, confused at first but he eventually started to laugh, indicating that he connected it to the FaceTime call. Karl looked up from the computer for the first time since he sat down, peering over and reading the note as well.

"You can throw that out," George said, pointing to the trash, "I meant to earlier."

"You're not going to reply?" Karl asked, "Come on George, it's rude to leave people on read."

George furrowed his eyebrows, "No, that's literally so stupid."

Alex rolled his eyes, "Come on it would be funny"

"You and I have very different definitions of the word funny, Quackity"

"Correction: I know what's funny, you just have a giant stick up your ass," Alex said, "And if you call me that again I'll punt you straight into the sun, Goggles."

"Goggles?"

"That's the name that guy you were playing pool with called you, right?" Alex smirked, "That tall, blonde looking guy who was definitely your type?"

"George talked to a guy?" Karl asked, and George tried not to pay attention to the fact that it was said with genuine shock. Alex nodded and Karl's eyes widened, "And you didn't think to tell me!"

"Well, clearly we have more important stuff to talk about" George held up Karl's book and pointed to the pages. Which was true, a game of pool wasn't actually that big of a deal - was it?

"Yeah but like chances of me meeting my soulmate is like 1 in 1000, but the chance of you actually willingly talking to a guy? That's like 1 in 7.5 trillion."

George tried not to take too much offence to that.

"Not just talking! George was actually flirting with him!" Alex said, and George wished he could just spontaneously combust right then and there. He had a good thing going: distancing himself from any thoughts or even hints of romantic relationships, and now his friends were never going to shut up.

"That's just not true" George lied.

"Liar! I came back after getting a drink and you two were totally flirting! Guess what he called him, Karl!"

"I don't see why this is import-"

"-Dream! He called him Dream!"

George's face went warm, and he could already tell he was turning a shade deeper, which just made Karl and Alex break off into fits of laughter.

"This is awesome!" Karl eventually said with the biggest smile on his face, "You haven't dated anyone since-"

"-We do not bring him up." George cut him off, and the room got more serious. Karl immediately shut his mouth, his eyes shining with guilt and regret - he had a bad habit of speaking too much. George regretted telling his friends about that part of his life. The only reason they knew was that he let it slip once when he was piss-drunk and sad over failing a midterm and it was one of those nights where he wallowed in self-pity about everything that went wrong in his life. It was something that he had tried so hard to forget; it was embarrassing, shameful, and he certainly didn't want it brought back into the light again.

"This person must have been wasted when they wrote this," Alex said, bringing the focus of the room back to the cat note, "What should we say back?"

"What if we say George is a grandma looking for a nice young man to spoil with her riches" Karl suggested, "Or we can say he's a serial killer!"

"Don't you dare!" George scoffed, "I don't need the swat team showing up at my door in the middle of the night."

"Do we want to make a good impression on this mysterious note sender?" Alex asked.

"We should!" Karl says, "What if it's like this really hot guy? We can't screw this up! What if they meet, no guy is going to fall in love with someone who pretended to be a local sexy, single, rich grandma'"

"Ah yes, because I'm going to meet this person, fall in love and have ten thousand kids and live happily ever after" George said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Dibs on being the best man at your wedding!" Karl shouted, quickly.

"Wait no! That's not fair!" Alex objected.

"It's fair I called dibs!"

"Fine, then dibs on being the wedding planner!"

"You don't even really want to be the planner you just called dibs because you know I'd want it!"

"What if we trade? You can have that if I get to be-"

George cut them off, "God you two are so annoying!"

But of course, they both ignored him, and after they had worked out who got to be the best man and who got to plan the wedding, and even which one of them got to be the flower girl for some reason, they went back to drafting the note.

George gave up and sat back, going onto his phone and eventually tuning them out. At least now they were focused on that and Dream or his ex-boyfriend, which was all that mattered in the end. It wasn't like he was going to actually send the letter, but what they didn't know didn't hurt them.

Plus, he really wasn't in the mood to argue with them at 9:59 AM on a Saturday.


End file.
